


Birds of Prey: Aftershock

by theaxmarksthespot



Category: Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU (Comics), Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Batman - Freeform, Birds of Prey, Comics, DC universe - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fan Comics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-12 11:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaxmarksthespot/pseuds/theaxmarksthespot
Summary: "Every hero has a story, not that I'm some kind of hero. But there comes a point when to survive, the hunted must become the Huntress."She never liked the cold. This was the only thing about that secluded villa in Italy she missed: there was always sunshine in early morning and even the nights were delightfully warm. She wasn't a fan of bright colours or raibows as she could remember, she was a one pallet kind of gal, but this... this here is a 180°: A dumpy rainny godforsaken city called Gotham."Well, Beca. You never liked it polychromatic."





	1. Terror of the underworld

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt to unite some passions of mine: Comics (Birds of Prey) and Pitch Perfect.  
> It's a new origin story (of course with the inspiration of both BoP and PP!) of the trio of super heroes, but I'll loosely lean onto my creative poetics and borrow what I find relevant from both worlds.  
> It's gonna be a wild ride, bare with me. I just hope what was in my head for a long time can somewhat be written, chiseled so I can see that I put in practise what I just speculated and kept to myself, just inside my (crazy mind).
> 
> I do not own any Pitch Perfect or DCU rights. This is a fan work and somewhat tribute, thus so I took liberties in changing the alter-ego of all characters, maintaining the hero persona e.g.  
> Huntress (as Beca Mitchell), Batgirl/Oracle (Chloe Beale), Black Canary (Emily Junk), Catwoman (Stacie Conrad), Faith (Fat Amy), Katana (Lily), Lady Blackhawk (Cynthia-Rose Adams), ("Amanda Waller" a.k.a White Queen (Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger), Batwoman (Calamity), Hawk (Jesse Swanson), Dove (Aubrey Posen), Savant (Luke), Creote (Bumper Allen) etc.
> 
> I'll post the comics chracters side-by-side with their Pitch Perfect persona so someonehow you and I don't get lost in the mix (@nopowergirl).
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker, all the mistakes are my own.  
> Well, I digress a lot. Let's go.
> 
>  
> 
> NA: I changed two the characters that currently haven't showed up: CR is better as Lady Blackhawk (a WWII fighter pilot, thinking about the PP story); and, Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger uses also the aliases "Amanda Waller" for her dirty schemes as well as also known as White Queen.  
> I hope that didn't confuse you and still keep going in this with me!

She never liked the cold. This was the only thing about that secluded villa in Italy she missed: there was always sunshine in early morning and even the nights were delightfully warm. She wasn't a fan of bright colours or raibows as she could remember, she was a one pallet kind of gal, but this... this here is a 180°: A dumpy rainny godforsaken city called **Gotham**. 

"Well, Beca. You never liked it polychromatic." She thinks, trying to swing her head left to right, somehow hearing the clicks of tense muscles that seemed always to reside on her back.

She then smiles, a almost psychotic beautiful smile, one that shows no teeth, but makes you shiver from head to toe, as if with that smile, those dark blue eyes, she was burning down your soul. She keeps her crossbow steadly aimed and pointed down to a dark figure crawling real slow on the ground, his perfect blonde hair now disheveled and damped in the greysh sweage in the back alley of Papa John's (ironic, right? A fake italian girl at the backalley of a fake italian joint), his body is almost giving up, his Batman costume - " _C'mon, it was a Party City outfit. You couldn't do better than that? You're a freaking millionaire!_ " - is trashed, but he kept the homemade dark mask in place like a throphy, a sign of pride that is read in his green-ish eyes, still twinkling. And people called her the psycho. At least she wasn't a sadist. Or at least she didn't think so. She blinks almost blindly (the rain drops mixed with the red of her own blood was a pain in the ass to a good amazon as herself) "Amazon." That made her laugh a bit. "Well, am I the shit comparing myself to Diana fucking Prince. Well, she wasn't really god-like whilst spending some hours of the night in Bruce's chambers. That woman can scream".

-  _Enough rambling. If you want to keep this pretty face intact, Savant and what is left of your cosplay, I'll ask for the last time._ She managed not to stutter, she basically deadpanned it. As if she was ordering her coffee. She maintened that cold tone, something she must thanks genetics, Papa Mitchell was a hella 'daddy dearest' example, pausing after every uttered word. -  _Where. The. Fuck. Is. The. Cargo._

And as in a flashlight she could only hear the breaks of what she guessed was a minivan, Savant maniacal weak laugh and a thud on her back that she could barely flinch. The baseball bat of the second scumbag hit her hard, but not harder for her to whimp. Beca Mitchell doesn't whimper. You have to thank Bruce Wayne's torturous trainning and mafia blood for that. She could hear in the distance a familiar voice directed to the blond:

-  _You ok there_ , _boss_? It was Bumper "Creote" Allen. The muscles and blind wingman of the delusional bandit slash vigilante wannabe. Yes, it is how Luke "Savant" Durlin described himself. And he had a following to help him out with his dreams. At least one. The stupid one that hit Beca and was now quickly lifting his mentor in the same time he held up a gun to her. 

-  _NO!_ Savant screamed, making both of them freeze in place and looking at him incredulously.  _She's mine._ He spat blood, his words harsh, probably tasting the metallic of blood.  _I'll take her down. But myself._ He looked at her with a shit eating grin plastered now back on his face. He stood up, wincing and with a throw of his hair. With Savant it was always a L'Oreal commercial in the making.

She trembled a bit, swearing as she realized as though she deflected a good part of the early blow she had at least two fractured ribs and that...  **that** made her stumble right over a misplace trashcan, causing a snort laugh from Bumper and a harsh "shush" from Luke. 

-  _Your puppy will not save you next time, Luke._ She managed to smile, to smirk, that loopsided smile that infuriated everyone (not only outlaws, but everyone). And as she made a swing to her crossbow again in the same time Bumper unlocked his gun, a familiar ear piercing roar from a modified Triumph Bonneville 1988 echoed. It was her bike.

It took one glance to her back to confirm that and as quickly as she went back to shoot Bumper, they had disappeared in thin air. Nothing but a red rose in a pud where Savant was previously laid.

-  _Will he ever stop with those cheesy Sailor Moon "slash" Tuxedo Mask references? Because it is not cute._ A smug (and satin velvet) voice came behind her. The steps from her purple boots echoing in the now silence alley, her cape making an ellegant swish and a smile that was bright, annoyingly too bright for this time of the day... or evening... or whatever 4 am is considered to be. She leaned over, not obliging the nagging from the brunnette, ducking foward on the floor and grabbed her by the waist.  _Lovely weather for a ride, don't you think, **Huntress**?_

 _\- Batgirl._ Beca menaged to regain her smirk, earning a 'huff' as a reflex response from the older girl, knowing too well the redhead retired that title and hated that alias.  _I swear to God... if you scratched my bike._ She said it panting ignoring the giggle from the gorgeous specimen now beside her, checking her out for more injuries.

-  _Well, Batgirl..._ the taller and injured-less woman said, making Beca almost snap back at her. This name never stuck out. Not. Ever. And the redhead continued, walking slowly with her arm to arm back to the ridiculously presumptuous black and purple motorcycle.  _I guess you will have to find it out._


	2. Big Bird, Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm Oracle. I know everybody."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There are traces of explicit violence. I'll try not to bring up the Barbara Gordon/The Joker episode (Killing Joke) and if you have any trigger of sexual violence, torture etc please do not look out for it. The Killing Joke comics is very explicit and I myself do not read it anymore. That being said, I'm creating a bit of new origin story for Oracle (Chloe Beale) and most characters.
> 
> I do not own any Pitch Perfect or DCU rights. This is a fan work and somewhat tribute, thus so I took liberties in changing the alter-ego of all characters, maintaining the hero persona. Presenting:
> 
> Huntress (as Beca Mitchell), Batgirl/Oracle (Chloe Beale), Black Canary (Emily Junk), Catwoman (Stacie Conrad), Faith (Fat Amy), Katana (Lily), Lady Blackhawk (Cynthia-Rose Adams), ("Amanda Waller" a.k.a White Queen (Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger), Batwoman (Calamity), Hawk (Jesse Swanson), Dove (Aubrey Posen), Savant (Luke), Creote (Bumper Allen) etc.
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker, all the mistakes are my own.
> 
> NA: I changed two the characters that currently haven't showed up: CR is better as Lady Blackhawk (a WWII fighter pilot, thinking about the PP story); and, Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger uses also the aliases "Amanda Waller" for her dirty schemes as well as also known as White Queen.  
> I hope that didn't confuse you and still keep going in this with me!

It took them over 40 minutes to get to the Gotham Clock Tower, the headquarters of the Birds of Prey. 

Beca knew, she knew that the readhead was extra careful driving her Triumph Bonneville 1988 (Yes, she normally used the full name to refer to her bike, sometimes "baby" and when no one was watching "my love") back home. Even with her breathless protests Chloe could not care less if it meant to cause any more pain that she knew her friend was already feeling. So driving like a grandma it is.

-  _You are stubborn enough to not let me take you to the medical bay._ Chloe said whilst the elevator stopped in the last floor of the HQ where a wide living room waited for them. It was the most homie of the whole complex, right in the middle, deviding each of the birds rooms. Yes, every morning Beca had to cross paths with the girls, all grumpy to get to the other end where the high tech kitchen was. Every bit of money that Beca earned from her father's dirty money she gave away to charity and if she got any intrests she spent to improve the place she called home for the past 7 years.  _\- So..._ Chloe continued.  _\- You stay put while I grab  the things to patch you up._ The readhead unhooked her utility belt and grabbed her "citizen phone" as she put it.  _\- Emily left for a gig but she left some clean loose clothes._ Shit. She always forgot to do her laundry. But who actually have time to do laundry when you work as a music producer by day and marksman (woman?) by night.

 _\- That tall drink of water better not "sing" ._ Beca tried to make airquotes with her hands, but the pain was too much for even raise her arms. So she continue.  _Her ass off tonight. We have to spend the whole day on the st-_

She could barely finish her sentence while sitting when Chloe was already back, the top of her outfit loose, unzipped with the sleeves almost reaching the floor and a red top now displaying her perfect build torso ("What? Mitchell. Focus.") and she leaned over the couch, already taking the brunette mask off and putting it over the glass coffee table in front of them. 

 _\- I swear to God. I don't know if you do that all on purpose... or you just is that reckless._ The redhead said with anger in her face, some pinky flush dots over the tips of her ears and starting to climb up her neck, letting all the features Beca found delightful pop up more. Like her freckles or incredible bright blue eyes. But Chloe continued, her voice stern, battling not to scream upon her injuried friend, but averting her eyes while unhooking the clips of Beca's cape.  _\- We were supposed to be a team. A team. We are in this together for seven years and you still try and go rogue whenever you feel like something's cooking up. That's why we do research._ The readhead continued, impressed that she didn't hear any complaints from the brunette and let herself talk her ears out. She unzipped the side of Beca's uniform and saw her friend wince, starting to breath harshly. It was bad. Not the worst she saw displayed on her, but she would feel pain. The readhead quickly finished to undress the top part of her friend's clothing, trying to focus on the injuries and not in the way of how smooth the pale skin felt beneath her fingers, how even cold, panting and trashed, the brunette remained this beautiful ("Ok. Focus, Beale. Clean the wounds"). And she started to quickly clean the area, her fingers were like feathers over Beca's ribs, but she couldn't be gentle, she had to mobilize this.

 _\- You know, Red._ Beca started talking finally, her voice a bit husky, but she couldn't stop the smirk forming her face,  trying to do what she could do better: avoid pain with her words.  _\- If it all it takes for you to undress me is a beating you could have just said it earlier. It would have saved some--_ She whimpered, a grunt of pain now echoing the room as Chloe was now attaching the (high tech state of the art Wayne Tech) bandages on the brunette skin. She was gluing three strips of red soft polyester-like material from below a couple of inches from her armpit until the line of the smaller girl midsection. She was done. For that part.

 _\- It amuses me how flirty you can be while beaten up._ The readhead smiled coyly, trying not to show how her heart skipped a beat every time any daring comment was thrown towards her from the brunette that said almost whispering.  _\- Or drunk. Don't forget while I am drunk._ She raised her right eyebrown to the motion of Beca's hand on her utility belt, knowing too well that she was reaching for her silver flask (probably half full now according to the time of the evening). She quickly took it away, placing it besides her friend's mask and trashed the medical aids she had used this far.

 _\- You are no fun, Batgirl._ Beca said with her eyes closed, trying her best to not grunt or pant anymore. "Any sign of that would be a weakness, Rebecca". Her father's words were chiseled in her soul since she was old enough to start trainning (at age 6). She tried to relax, leaning over to the couch but a soft hand with a firm grip took her not bruised arm, moving her close. She snapped up to see Chloe dangerously close to her. Yeah, she confronted Grodd, The Penguin, Harley Quinn and her damn dogs, hell, even Bruce Wayne himself, but nothing made her hold her breath as Chloe Beale. She was gorgeous. 5'6 (slightly taller than herself), wavy red hair - curled up on the tips today - below her shoulders. Her eyes were maddeningly blue. A bright light blue that popped, that would light up any dark room. She refused to wear that black heavy eyeliner and makeup around her eyes - as she was now washing off Beca's face to clean up some scratches- but well, she couldn't hide that pair of mirrors of her soul. This always made Beca feel privileged, to be this close to her best friend - yes, living with someone,  patching up each others and coming from dark past had a way of bonding even those two different characters. Beca Mitchell was guarded and arrogant, sneaky and with a sharp tongue (but she was a softie, according to Emily). For the other side, Chloe Beale was a ray of sunshine. She would smile even if they were upside down on a rainy grey day waiting for an ambush to work out. Even with all she had been through... Beca stopped, knowing she was staring at her for a creepy amount of time now. So she continued. 

_\- I had a good hunch, Chlo. I knew Savant would not hide, he would do something flashy just for show. He needs allies and moving a cargo that big would give him the scumbag brownie points he needed._

Chloe sighed. Straighting up and finally finishing, slowly, drying up the sweat and blood left of her friend's petite face. Damn that face. She couldn't be mad at her. She cleared her throat and discarded the used medical supplies and sat with her feet underneath her, facing Beca. She finally said it, shaky at first but her confidence building up. She was always confident.

-  _I know when it comes to..._ she paused and looked into Beca's dark blue eyes.  _Savant. You get all protective and try to keep me on the dark. But you cannot do that anymore. I'm healed. I've been healed for over two years now and I'm not afraid. I am not afraid because..._ For the second time Beca held her breath, just now noticing how close Chloe was from her and the silence now proving that the redhead noticed it too. But they didn't flinch. They didn't dare to move any inch. They had this chemistry, this silent vow that (at least used majorly by Chloe) that there was not such a thing as personal space between them, that it was all fair game. 

Now Beca was the one clearing her throat and avoiding bright blue eyes for a couple of seconds when she heard a firm:

...  _Because I have you. And I know you have my back. It was not your fault last time._ She regretted those words almost immediately when she saw the hurt in Beca's face, the guilt, the sadness that painful memory brought to her. She wasn't able to protect Chloe. And she blamed herself for it. She blamed herself for not capturing Savant after all that and she blamed herself for the time her friend couldn't walk for almost a year. Chloe reached out to her, cupping her left cheek with her right hand, making the brunnette look up to her... a mist in her dark blue eyes glistenning and Chloe hates it. She hated the way she could not wipe up any trace of sadness from Beca's. The redhead was inches from her, she could feel the steady breath of Beca tickle her mouth and it made her without noticing lick her own lower lip at the same time as darting her eyes up to Beca's.  _\- What happened was not your fault. You have to let it go... You have to let that burden go so we can move on..._

 

She's so close, Beca thought. She was close and the guilt that always crept within the back of her head had left for a brief minute. She didn't care right now. She was selfish like that, she thought. She only cared about letting herself dive in those blue eyes and touch perfect pink lips...

 

 _\- What's up twiggy little birds!_ The thick australian accent and high pitched voiced magically appeared and both girls almost jump off their sits, making Beca wince, grinding her teeth from the pain that this abrupt motion caused her and she looked up. Out of nowhere there she was. Their friend. Their loud, amazing and cockblocking friend appeared out of nowhere - as she always did- walking over them.  _I've heard you could use some extra pounds in this mission._

The duo just sighed and startled at her. How could she know about a (failed) mission that happened just a a short time ago and why in the hell they gave her security clearance to her again?

 

* * *

**_Coming up next:_ ** _Meet Faith a.k.a Fat Amy, Emily Junk (Black Canary) and the couple Hawk (Jesse Swanson) and Dove (Aubrey Posen)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about Birds of Prey take a look at my tumblr (nopowergirl) and there I showed a quick beat of what a Savant Vs Huntress fight looks like.


	3. Blood cries for blood, Beca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hate losing. I hate running away. I don't know what else to do. They don't fear me. Not like they fear him. Where is the Batman? He's all over me when I screw up when I don't play by his rules. "My City!" he says, never let's me forget it. So why isn't he putting the fear of... Are they roasting a bat?" - Huntress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are explicit scenes of violence. If you are triggered, please, do not read.  
> There are also links to redirect to images of some new characters. I'll try to make a profile at my tumblr (same username). I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I do not own any Pitch Perfect or DCU rights. This is a fan work and somewhat tribute, thus so I took liberties in changing the alter-ego of all characters, maintaining the hero persona e.g.  
> Huntress (as Beca Mitchell), Batgirl/Oracle (Chloe Beale), Black Canary (Emily Junk), Catwoman (Stacie Conrad), Faith (Fat Amy), Katana (Lily), Lady Blackhawk (Cynthia-Rose Adams), ("Amanda Waller" a.k.a White Queen (Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger), Batwoman (Calamity), Hawk (Jesse Swanson), Dove (Aubrey Posen), Savant (Luke), Creote (Bumper Allen), Dr. Mitchell (Salvatore 'Sal' Mitchell) and Robin/Nightwing (Chicago)  
> I'll post the comics chracters side-by-side with their Pitch Perfect persona so someonehow you and I don't get lost in the mix (@nopowergirl).
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker, all the mistakes are my own.

**_Gotham City. 21 years ago._ **

 

 

 _- You were supposed to save the SISTER. Not this bastard child._ That was all 8 years old Rebecca Bertinelli could hear right now. She was there, at her secure place holding her stuffed doll she made herself " _Look, mama. It's like a real mini me. I found some purple cloth for the dress- dress (She stuttered sometimes, amongst other idiosyncrasies that just made her father despise her even more) and I gave her my purple tiara_ ". Her mother would only nod and smile as best as she could. The beatings took a tool on her. Of course Franco Bertinelli wasn't stupid to let anyone of the Five Families see how he abused his family what only worsen the fact that while he was climbing up to the top, to be the head of La Cinque Famiglie, his devoted spouse Maria was screwing with Santo Cassamento. Nice fella. Only the top dog of the heroin trade in Gotham. \----- So, there she was, with her hands over her years, waterfalls falling from those beautiful dark blue eyes and her crying - that she usually kept to herself "or else..." would say her papa, the bullets echoing around the house and something hit her. Hit her precious little Rosa, busting its purple dress _"because it's my favourite colour, mama!"_ She uncovered her eyes and the doors fell. The thud seemed to call the attention of a tall man with a stripped brown suit, the mustache was fully grown and she could noticed he was losing a bit of his hair already. Beca was always perceptive. She couldn't hear the man mouthing at her while she was walking downstairs for the family dinner. It had to be at 6pm even if dad wasn't there Pino would tell him anyway. She sat at the right side of the [table](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d9b4ee24fe6a859b3b13647878c4726b/tumblr_plz9k62SOo1w3qvbbo1_1280.jpg) , now drenched in red ("Wait... mama doesn't drink wine when papa was around. It was when he left that she started to try to numb the pain his spouse left marked on her body. Her body. But never her face. **My Maria, you have the most beautiful dark blue eyes"** She never understood that, that "love". And that was the feature Franco Bertinelli hated most in his bastard daughter. It wasn't a combination of his and his lover's. It was only Maria's. Franco walked passed Rebecca as if he has horseshit forever stuck on the soles of his shoes and that's what he considered his "daughter") - And it was then... then that it hit her, everything, the running upstairs as she heard gunshots, being almost threw away to the top floor from her mother so she could get away... go ask for help. But she just did what she always did after or before her fair share of papa's anger: get inside the closet.

The man with sad eyes was screaming - at least she thought so, she was in shock, meanwhile an older one with a bit of a lump on his back was cleaning and swiping around the place and cleaning fingerprints (As if the Gotham PD would ever get into a fight between  the big Mafia). This mustache man had a worried look in his face, as if he was feeling sorry for her (She later found out that it was genuine), the dark big bags under his eyes showed that jobs like that would take something away from you every and each time you cleaned up. "Have your job done. Clean it up".

Beca wasn't listening to the men, to the attempt of covering her with a coat and dragging her to a black Cadillac Coupe DeVille (it doesn't scream Mafia at all, does it?) and leaving her dear Rosa there... on the floor, unnoticed by everyone - and so she thought. 

 

**_8 hours later_ **

 

After the Gotham PD did their "job", packing up three bodies and shoving them in black bags - of Maria Bertinelli, Franco Bertinelli and young Pino Bertinelli - and ignoring the ballistics or the metallic smell of blood, ignoring the wardrobe that was the only thing intact without a trace of a bullet or hit. But he noticed it. He always noticed it. He picked up the dool, with its little right arm ragged and dressed in purple. A sad smile showed in his face. -  _So purple is your favorite color._ He said it too loud. Loud enough for a loud person come pry.

 

 _\- Whose favorite color?[Dick Grayson](https://66.media.tumblr.com/01f1e3c0b67c53651762f1906dfa9476/tumblr_plyzo43s961w3qvbbo1_640.jpg)_. He had potential, Batman couldn't argue with that. But his temper was like a tic-tac bomb, an explosion to happen. Anything could trigger and so it did when the Boy Wonder grabbed the little doll from his mentor's hands and analyzed it. He closed his bright blue eyes, smudged with that ridiculous black paint they had to wear underneath their masks and snapped. He screamed, he kicked the dinner table, he took his bat and started to hit everything and anything until Bruce restrained him and talked with that robotic hoarse voice "Stop, Chicago. That's enough". This microphone in the mask modified his mentor's voice and was even useful for access in security facilities, it recorded the environment also- thanks to the all recordings samples from scumbags, dirty police officers and whoever stepped inside Belle Reve Penitentiary and the "The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane". Criminally Insane, wasn't that what both of them, Chicago Grayson and Bruce Wayne were? But I guess money does have its perks and allows you to instead of going into a killing spree, solve that motherfucking killing spree. Chicago was a kid himself and as the little girl who left this toy behind, also had a bloody past now that would haunt her. Them. 

 

 

_**Sicily, 6 years later** _

  _\- You are slacking there, old man._ Beca was in a defense position, her arms guarded, but she took a step back, almost dancing moving her left foot back and right in front again, changing styles now - she just loved Boxing. Swinging her hair that was in a tight ponytail, she managed to shake off the sweat droplets that were falling from her eyebrows now - as she just moved from receiveng, or better, defending his master's hooks, punches, jabs and whatever with a perfect sequence of 360 Defense. But something was off. Som--

And as soon as she felt the baby hair or her nape rise - call it a sixth sense or, that she's just that good in reflex- she jumped off, protecting the fall with her arms in front, allowing herself to roll behind a couple of stocks of grass hay just in time a very sharp arrow  inches above her head. She grunted and took a deep breath, hearing the bow string starting to tighten. " _A fucking pro recurve bow?"_. She looked back, having mere seconds to find something. She calculated three sets of footsteps counting her master's and just one bow due to the amateur needing help from a second to "recharge" it. She looked down and that's when she saw it. Three bridle bits. She quickly tossed some gravel, dirty and whatever - maybe even manure (when in war...) to her left. Knowing pretty well there was where her professor would be - she could smell him, sense his... aura (or whatever shit it is... trainning voodoo shit). With a dive, Beca took two seconds to roll in the air the first bridle, knocking the archer's helper right in the nose and managing to get a good grip there, in his face - just like a horse- so she could use him as shield for the archer who was going to hit her with the bow.

-  ** _Cazzo!*_** She could barely hear from the now nose bleeding monk in her power. She then kicked him straight to the second one, hopping down and avoiding an arrow coming from her own master. She looked up, still with two pairs of bridle bits and gave that snarky - according to Sal Mitchell - loopside smile. She dived imiddiately and threw  those now weapons aiming to her masters feet. She knew it wouldn't work but it gave it just what she wanted. Distraction. Beca grabbed the crossbow that was carried in a holster and stupidly charged like waiting for her and grabbed another handful of dirty, punching the young archer in the chin with a jab and throwing the dust back at her first "victim"/ It took a second to her to point the bow straight ahead, aiming at his master's forehead - she always wanted perfect scores - while he was still "charging" his long bow.

 

 _ **\- Basta!!!****_ Doc Mitchell said. He cleaned the feathers of his last arrow and tucked it alongside the longbow. And as a form of respect, Beca stood up and bowed, stretching up her hand, palm face up to give back the "borrowed" crossbow from before, but could only hear (and feel) a bloody spit that got right in her forehead coming from one of the two who were supposed to be monks or masterful in some martial arts - they had to be chilled, right?! - and mumbled what she could decipher as **\- Stronza!***** and **- Vaffanculo!******

It took all of her willpower to not use the crossbow to fracture a kneecap of one motherfucker. But she knew what was going to happen if she went that far. Again. She had the skill to flinch every single shot and could go as stealth as the owl. But she couldn't stop those dreadful night terrors. She had to scream and cry. And how did she did as a safety valve to channel those emotions? Using acts of pure violence like moments ago, of course.

 

 

_* Fuck!   **Enough!!!   ***Asshole!   ****Go fuck yourself!_

* * *

 

Sal 'Doc' Mitchell haven't spoken to her after that Tarantino stunt but the word spread fast. Not that she cared. She cared about learning whatever she could learn so she could go back to the shithole that was Gotham City and find out the truth.

She went to bed quiet early, just after the sundown so she could "medidate" (or close her eyes sitting down and thinking  what Madonna song would mix with Metallica; now that was a challenge; not that pitful trainning from earlier) and, after what seemed like minutes, it was pasted 4 am and Doc Mitchell was shaking her shoulders, after droping a cold towel over her head and the cold driplets soothing her hot skin. She had her eyes shot up, she snapped back at her "cousin" that was more of a father to her - Hell, she even adopted his last name and banned "Rebecca" from it as well. "Beca" was enough.

 _\- She... I saw her this time. I haven't seen her for..._ She choked up, she allowed herself that in those circumstances, in a dark room with the only person she trusted. She couldn't meet his eyes just yet but she looked down, tilting her head as she saw luggage by the foot of her bed. She then look up at him and saw the hurt in him. But also... the fear in  those blood shot eyes that couldn't sleep to prevent her to have a tantrum and hurt herself or others passersby, or punch the oak wood door so hard she now is healing from a severe fracture. She understood and nodded, sitting straight up, looking ahead.

 

 _- Principessa_ **[** _Princess_ **]** _. We've thought everything we had to. We summoned the best of the best and you endured..._ His voice failed now but he continued and his tone was slowly progressing higher.  _... even TORTURE, piccola_ **[** _little one_ **]** _. Now we finally have a chance. You have a chance. To cure all of this._ Beca looked up, curious, posing as the strong emotionless bitch even her many caretakers called her. But, this, what Doc was saying was important. It was the only thing that mattered to her right now, after over six years of nightmares, pain, trainning, self pity, growing a vanadium shield inside her, just like her precious earned crossbow - after defeating every single beast (they weren't men) from a **pit** at  **Mehrangarh fort** in the Thar Desert of the northwest India. It was her 14th birthday present: been thrown at a pit in the middle of the desert, fight whoever attacked her to survive the night and climb back up (one thing she heard only one person did it before her, a woman she heard - Girl fuckin' power!). She just had to stay in the medic bay for 16 days and was obligated to really meditate this time or no music or no mix board. She healed. As she always does. She grew an armour stronger than the weak façade that had there previously. That's the key: build up yourself. Be your best self because you do not have to be afraid of pain. You have to cherish it, endure it and then... you won.

 _\- His name is Bruce Wayne. His private plane is about to arrive at any given minute and he will help you. He is not just a rich playboy that he makes people think he is._ His look was stern, his eyes direct at her.  _He will make you the best if you let him. Understood?_

She nodded. She knew she was stronger now - but not much stronger than those that held her 6 years ago at her destroyed apartment in Gotham killing her family. She looked at that old man sad smile. Sad, but it was still warm and it was what she knew "home" felt like. She patted his shoulders trying not to make him notice the scrunch of her nose trying not to cry as he hugged her. Tight. She sighed and nodded ,going to stand up so she could gather some belongings - it looks like everything else was taken care of - but she was stopped. She looked back and saw a squared black velvet box. Openning it, it was something that almost made her crumble down and tears fall like faucets from her dark stormy eyes. She barely managed to ask "How?" and Doc Mitchell was already putting Beca's mom's necklace around her neck... she felt it almost burn her skin from pain, " _brama_ " **[** longing **]** , "loss". No. None of those words in any language could express it. She learned one word a while ago when trying to sit in a room in mid summer (and when there wasn't summer in this part of Italy?) learning latin, romance languages and... portuguese, she read: **saudade "a feeling that enclosed longing, melancholy, nostalgia, sadness, and caused physical pain.** She wrote in her head that "saudade" was the love that remained. The lost love.The thing the living had to "carry" and "feel" (as antagonistic as it was, she thought).

The quiet night was now filled with the hum of airplane engines.  They didn't stop. It was like they were making a pit stop to drag a missing piece and go back home.

-  _It took me some years to find that cross. Your mother used to put underneath your pillow sometimes when..._ he coughed and his voice failed again.  _Days were harder than others. Carry it with you and make it a symbol of your desires._ With his left hand he caressed her chin, making her look at him. His lips touched her forehead briefly and his free hand laid on her left shoulder.  _You are a good kid who endured terrible things. But you are Maria's daughter. No one else's. Use it to give you strenght... and if anything else fails, remember._ They said together:

 _ **\- Blood cries for blood.**_ And only Sal Mitchell continued, taking Beca by surprise.  _ **Figlia mia [daughter of mine]** , remember this next words because from now on everything is going to change._ He pointed and outside the house was a figure much like a butler who patiently, with his hands behind his back and no tension whatsover over his shoulder awaits. He was just there, as if it was something he did on a daily-basis - take kids from one end of the world back to the other (shitbag) end. He coughed to get her attention, she looked directly at his eyes.  _\- Do not take for granted what Master Wayne and **Alfred Pennyworth**_ (He pointed out to the butler who gave a nod and faint smile. But she got curious in why he put so much emphasis in the butler name. 'Oh'. He was the Sal Mitchell now. The one who would see her as a person. Master Wayne was the one to turn her to a machine). He completed, pulling her carefully away from him as so if he would touch her for a bit while longer he wouldn't be able to give away the only thing he knew as daughter, whispering to her and her only : _Every hero has a story, not that I'm some kind of hero, unlike yourself soon. But there comes a point when to survive, the hunted must become the **Huntress**._

 

* * *

**_Gotham City, 2019. Present day._ **

 

It only took minutes to [Faith](https://66.media.tumblr.com/a7a746c013d19995ef39e41343b0f14b/tumblr_plzffzT1W41w3qvbbo1_1280.jpg) clean up the place, help Beca with her sweatpants and a tight black tank top that Chloe insisted for her to wear this way so the ribs would keep in place - if it somhow happened to show a bit of her popping up breasts, well.... she was only human.

The three of them were spread out at the L shaped couch, Beca resting her head over Chloe's lap, eyes closed, back straightened and Amy was meditating, something about auras and shit that Chloe was feigning interest in, because her focus was on caressing the wavy dark brown hair sprailed over her. She had some kind of sort of a photographic memory _**"No -** said in that calm tone and smile she just reserved for Beca **\- I have an eidetic memory, as I've told you many times, most recently last year during lunch on the afternoon of May 7th.**_ But those "tricks" (as Beca so adorably annoying put) worked at just some extent. But she was sure she would never forget this moment with Beca right now, with her right arm - as her good hand was in a meticulously bandaged (She was a leftie. Of course she was. "Spawn of Satan" the Priest used to tell the Bertinellis every mass), caressing absently her skin. "That soft... smooth skin" Beca was thinking and she barely heard Amy suddenly getting up to receive a "aural call" and left.

 _\- How does she come up with those freaking names? Someone speaking to you in your mind is crazy enough, Red._ Beca looked up to a dazzling smile that she was "forced" to give back and just mumble the rest of the sentence. _\- Just say you have to take a piss._

 _\- Now, how adorable is that?_ A sultry voice that only made Beca shiver was climbing down the window and the brunette stiffed. Of course Chloe noticed. If eyes could send daggers to kill... those baby blue eyes from the readhead would have machine gunned the beautiful "leg for days" woman who purred at them--  _Oh, Beca, baby. Were you out playing without calling me again?_

Both Chloe's and Beca's eyes snapped at each other and then her.

 

 _\- Yo, Puss in Boots. Nice brothel look._ Amy chimed in again, with her left hand straighten up, holding a pinkish ball of energy and in the next milisec disappeared.  _The Big buff yum bird and the other Twig Bird are coming over. Why so many birds? You know that they carry diseases, yeah?! They are saying something about a carg--_

 

 _\- WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. GOING. ON?_ Beca said, sitting back up straighter as she could but of course Chloe helped her out. The brunette squeezed her hand as a thank you for not letting her hurt herself (much). Beca pointed to Amy.  _\- You have security clearance only because you used your mind tricks to steal in Monopoly. ***Sore loser, Amy coughed*** But it doesn't give you the right to invite those two creeps here. And... _she pointed out straight up the slim beautiful figure in black spandex that showed every curve and it gave Beca a nano second to find words that she could only utter _:_ _WHY??_

Chloe crossed her arms around Beca's back, stilling her for the only purpose of keeping her safe, of course. No. She wasn't jealous. No. She wasn't being territorial. It's just her best friend being a babbling mess everytime she saw a hot girl (not that Stace Kyle was hot. She was not even in the same LEAGUE as Chloe). And WHO uses that kind of chlothing to fight... or worse... to commit crime? She was almost like a burlesque performer. She wasn't jealous. She was annoyed. Annoyed because Beca needed to heal and **maybe** they were interrupted earlier in doing something that she wanted for a bit over 6 years and an impromptu coven was being formed. As coven just for that witch over there. Heck. She was literally licking the back of her hand. Why? Why?

Why indeed, Beca thought.

- _I need booze._ **She gave a look to Chloe who just rolled her eyes.** _\- And I need food. A shitload of food. Or I'll lock everything down, kick everyone out and no one- I said NO ONE - and that's not one son of a bitch_ **\- she said it pointing it to Faith and Catwoman -** _actually lives here will have clearance. Now... my favourite nerd here will call our misfit wannabe rebel and let's have some takeout._ She winked - or as Chloe always put, half-winked... it was "adorbs" when she tried because Chloe couldn't do anything but to (properly) wink back with a bright smile.

* * *

**_Coming up next: Savant plans, Nightwing, Hawk and Dove and Catwoman?_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, please let me know if changing from bold to italic and using or not using question marks help?  
> Thanks to everyone who is reading this crazy lucid dream of mine as my insomnia still kicks in and it's 7:35 am.  
> But, lesbihonest, it's damn cathartic.  
> Make good choices Xx

**Author's Note:**

> This is an "ambitious" project and I honestely don't know if it will work. But I have high hopes for it.
> 
> There are plenty of characters in the Batman universe and Birds of Prey is in a special place in my heart it was the first female group superhero comics I ever bought and the penciler at the time as a brazilian (just like me), Ed Benes (check him out!).  
> I was privileged enough to meet him and have a Huntress commission made by him, get to know Gail Simone and other BoP/Batman Universe pencilers (which are brazilians. I'm bias, I know!!) such as Adriana Melo and Márcio Takara.


End file.
